Whiskey Women - Shelby Black

I’m sitting at a bar alone drinking whiskey. Which means I have a wild side. Which means I’m looking for a good time. Which means I’m asking you to buy me another drink. Which means I want you to approach me. Which means I’m easy. Which means you’re definitely getting laid tonight. Which means if you don’t, you have the right to call me a whore. Which means I should know better than to be sipping such a strong drink so late at night.

I’m sitting at a bar alone drinking whiskey. Which means I don’t want to be bothered. Which means I’m stuck up. Which means I’m a bitch. Which means I hate men. Which means I’m a feminist. Which means I’m threatening your masculinity. Which means you have to exert your dominance. Which means when you smack your hand down in front of me to stop that glass from hitting my lips, you’re doing exactly what a man should do. Which means I should know who’s in charge.

I’m sitting at a bar alone drinking whiskey on a humid August night. The precipitation makes my tank top cling tighter to my body. Which means the beads of sweat forming on my chest is meant to turn you on. Which means I’m asking to be touched. Which means you have the right to stroke your hand up and down my bare arm. Which means those goosebumps definitely prove I’m excited rather than disgusted. Which means when I recoil from your wandering hand, you should push further. Which means when I slap you away, I’m a tease. Which means even though it’s pushing 90°, I should know better than to dress like I’m asking for it.

Shelby Blackis a recent University of San Francisco graduate desperately trying to figure out what one does with a Bachelor's in Media Studies. A native Memphian, she spends her time paying for overpriced coffee, prowling through used bookstores, and googling how much it would cost to fly to Europe right now.